


Osamu Dreams of Onigiri

by kittykueen



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Age Difference, Bisexual Osamu, Body Worship, Cooking, Cunnilingus, F/M, Face-Sitting, I want Osamu to lick me too ok, Kitchen Seduction, Onigiri Miya, Osamu is five years older than the reader, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28998363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittykueen/pseuds/kittykueen
Summary: Miya Osamu is a responsible business owner. He insists on managing everything thoroughly, even going so far as to clean his restaurant by himself every night. A dedication to your craft unfortunately also means less time for things like resting and romance. Osamu has no problems with this until a persistent college kid refuses to take no for an answer when recruiting him to be the subject of her documentary.Alternatively, Osamu and the Reader get horny over food.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Female Reader, Miya Osamu/Reader, Miya Osamu/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 82





	Osamu Dreams of Onigiri

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, a man who cooks is so sexy and I just had to write a tension-filled kitchen scene. So here you go lmao. Feel free to tell me your thoughts in the comments!

_Appetizer_

Osamu was tired. It had been a busy Friday, and while he loved his life’s work, the beginning of the weekend rush was always killer. He yawned as he counted the last of the cash in the register before locking it up and proceeding to wipe down the bar adjacent to the kitchen.

He had always loved the set-up of Onigiri Miya— he designed it almost entirely by himself, insisting he pick out everything from the hardwood floors to the varnish on the tables. He remembered this as he realized that he was in his Tokyo location now, even though it looked exactly like the first one he opened back in Osaka. His thoughts were interrupted by a now-familiar knocking at the front door.

Osamu sighed. It was that girl again.

As much as he wanted to ignore the sound of knuckles rapping on glass, he knew that she would persist as she had every other day in the last week. This had become a bit of a routine for them; she would stop by and pester Osamu to be in a film project related to food or something, and he would reject it claiming to be much too busy for such things. And yet she had continued showing up at around 10 o’clock to try and convince him otherwise for the seventh time.

Realizing he had no other choice but to indulge her, lest she disturbs his already rare daily moment of silence forever, Osamu threw his cleaning rag onto the counter in defeat. Sluggishly, he stalked to the entrance of the restaurant and unlocked it.

“If I say I’ll help you, will you stop coming by and ruining my alone time every night?”

The girl scrambled in, a smile growing on her face as she nodded enthusiastically at him.

“Thank you so much, Miya-san. I promise not to bother you anymore after this, I just really need this final submission for one of my upper-division classes.”

Growing tired from the day’s work, Osamu ushered for them to move to one of the booths. He slid into a seat, then gestured to her as if to urge her to continue.

“Ah right well, I’ve been trying to tell you that I think you’d be the perfect subject for this short documentary I’m making for my film class,” the girl said as she pulled a notebook from her tote bag.

“Have you ever seen _Jiro Dreams of Sushi_ , Miya-san?”

“Do you need air to breathe? Course I’ve seen it. What about it?”

She smiled sheepishly, fiddling with the loose strands of hair that had fallen out of her alligator clip.

“Okay silly question to ask a restauranteur, but I was thinking of doing something like that but shorter. And I thought you could be my subject. _Osamu Dreams of Onigiri_ kind of has a ring to it don’t you think?”

Osamu snorted to hide the laugh that threatened to come through.

“Fine,” he said, doing his best to sound a bit more defeated and a bit less excited.

“Really? Thank you! I promise you won’t regret this!”

She stood up abruptly, before taking his calloused hand in hers and bowing. Without missing a beat, she handed him a piece of paper she had seemingly procured from nowhere.

“I’ll be back here Sunday before opening. This is my number just in case you have any questions. Thank you so much, Miya-san!”

Just as quickly as she had come in, the source of his daily annoyance was gone. Osamu stretched his back as he got up from the booth they had occupied, making a mental note to get back to his exercise routine.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t intrigued by the idea, maybe even looking forward to it. Still, his weekend had just begun and he had an early day ahead of him tomorrow. His thoughts wandered to the contents of his fridge as he made his way back to his apartment.

——————

The blue curtains of Onigiri Miya’s entrance had just about flapped open and closed for the last time that Saturday when Osamu remembered the scrap of paper he had stowed away in the back pocket of his work pants.

Wiping off the last bit of salted rice from his palms, he retrieved said piece of paper and decided to text the troublesome girl that had given it to him.

Tapping the digits and a text onto his smartphone, he thought about the last time he had even contacted someone who wasn’t family. He knew very well that he had a reputation as “the handsome rice ball guy” based on his interactions with a couple of customers, and so this wasn’t the first time he’d even been given a number before. But remembering that the purpose for which he was contacting this conventionally attractive younger woman was for a project, Osamu felt a pang of insecurity.

He had been single for a while now, far too busy with his business to even entertain the prospect of a romantic relationship. Plus, his brother wasn’t in much different of a situation given that said twin was much more enamored by volleyball and his own reflection to be bothered with maintaining a partner. Not a lot of people caught his eye and he didn’t really need to compete with his brother on that front just yet, but he was already in his late twenties. He pondered the idea of downloading a dating app before ultimately deciding it would be too embarrassing if anyone he knew found out.

His errant thoughts were interrupted by the ping of his phone— man, did he hate the ring tone on that thing.

_From: Film Kid_

_[21:30]_

_Hi Miya-san! Thanks for reaching out, I kinda forgot to ask for your number. I’ll drop by at closing time tomorrow. You end shift early on Sundays, right?_

Resisting the urge to retort that she already knew his schedule well (considering she had pestered him for a week prior), Osamu typed his reply.

_To: Film Kid_

_[21:32]_

_Yep. See ya at closing kid._

Pocketing his phone after putting it on vibrate, Osamu finished the last steps of his closing time ritual. For the first time in a week, he could actually enjoy a few moments of silence. But the sudden vibrations in his back pocket served as a reminder that the peace would be short-lived. He decided to reply tomorrow, opting instead to picture what kind of questions the girl would be asking him for the documentary.

When he had first heard the pitch from Akaashi-kun— he was a mutual friend of theirs, apparently— he hesitated to decline. Not because he was still getting over his crush on said male, but because he had always loved food films. Which isn’t necessarily surprising since he lived to eat. Rather, he hadn’t seen himself as the subject of such an endeavor. Well, _not yet,_ at least.

Akaashi-kun had also warned Osamu then that his friend was only having him be a temporary middle-man, and would not take no for an answer. Osamu had only chuckled at this then. Whether he was trying to play it cool or he actually didn’t believe it, he doesn’t remember. He should not have been that surprised when lo and behold, Akaashi-kun had been telling the truth.

What he hadn’t expected was for said friend to not only be a familiar face, being one of his regulars but also arguably twice as attractive as his ex-crush. Not only that, she still had that youthful vigor that all early twenty-somethings seemed to have.

He felt like an old man even thinking the thought, and though he wasn’t that much older than her, he felt like he needed to prove something to himself when he had actually met her.

Perhaps that was why he ended up saying yes anyway, despite his initial misgivings.

Osamu flipped the last of the bar stools upside down, closed up the stock room, then finally locked the door. He looked at the small parking area behind the shop before ultimately deciding to take his motorcycle home for the night instead of catching the train.

This time, he took a detour to the corner store a couple of blocks away from his apartment to restock on eggs and ketchup— he was cooking _omurice_ tonight. He thought about the fact that he always cooked for one since he lived alone now, wondering what it would be like to cook for two or have someone who wasn’t a paid employee lend him a hand in the kitchen.

By half-past eleven, Osamu had finished washing his singular plate and spoon. It only took him another half hour to bathe and get to bed, falling asleep with vague thoughts about what next month’s seasonal menu item would be.

_Main Course_

After his day of silence, the sound of frantic knocking was back along with its perpetrator. Only this time, not only was said person expected, but she was also a couple of hours earlier than she had been the previous week. After all, Osamu liked closing early on Sundays to do inventory, accept deliveries, and finish up other administrative work that he couldn’t accomplish during the rest of the week.

Anticipating her arrival, the dark-haired Miya had already done all of the work by the time she had arrived. And instead of donning one of his more worn-in work shirts, he had elected to wear one of the newer uniforms he had lying about in the stock room. He may or may not have unconsciously chosen a tighter fit to show off his figure.

Standing up from his comfortable nook in the farthest booth from the entrance, Osamu opened the door feeling oddly nervous. The feeling wasn’t unfamiliar considering his high school varsity career, though it was a bit rarer now that he was no longer competing. Still, the amount of effort he had to put into seeming unfazed as he welcomed the girl into his shop was curious to him.

He noticed her struggling to carry her tote bag and some camera equipment before taking it upon himself to carry more than half her stuff into his designated booth.

“Sorry about that. Usually, there would be a film crew and other people around to help me but this is just a university project after all.” The remark made Osamu feel a little silly that he had been as nervous as he was while waiting for her.

He watched on as she unpacked a tripod, a camera, some batteries, and what seemed to be the same tattered notebook she carried around whenever she visited as a customer.

Satisfied with her set up, she slid into the seat across Osamu, careful not to move the tripod she had carefully prepared beside the booth. He noted the way her bangs fell before her eyes as she scanned the page before deeming it acceptable to show to him.

——————

The days of filming came and went in the blink of an eye. Which isn’t to say it was absent of awkwardness, especially in the beginning. Osamu—unlike his twin— was never keen on being the center of attention. Sure, he liked the recognition that came with perfecting his craft. But contrary to Atsumu, he only ever enjoyed the popularity when he felt he deserved it, earned it.

Of course, Osamu was incredibly proud of the work he had put into Onigiri Miya. He took time to develop his recipes from the prep for each filling to the roasting of the nori sheets. He would come by Kita’s farm once every few months to see how the rice was growing. He even devoted the time to finish up cleaning the place himself every single night.

It wasn’t that he didn’t feel deserving of attention— after all he had bills to pay, and publicity would no doubt help with that— but the five years of being away from the spotlight of a gymnasium and behind the counter of a kitchen had made Osamu even more reserved than he had already been in high school.

Funnily enough, the girl filming him had slowly but surely chipped away at his shyness about his humble work.

“I can’t believe you started this business all on your own fresh out of uni. And now you’ve got endorsements from pro-athletes and you’ve even got another branch!” She beams at him on their second day of filming.

“You flatter me, kiddo. It’s really just hard work and a bit of luck,” he winks at her playfully, catching a tinge of pink on her face as she looks away.

From the sparkle in her eyes as she filmed him explaining his love for food, to the concentrated look on her face as she scrolled through the takes they had filmed, down to the genuine curiosity in her voice as she asked him, again and again, to spill the nonexistent secret to his rice, the restauranteur would have been lying if he said he didn’t find it a little bit endearing.

_‘Okay, a lot endearing,_ ’ Osamu admitted in his thoughts. After all, not only did she have the admirable awestruck disposition of a child at a candy store, she was also quite the looker. He would be lying to himself if he denied the fact that his gaze had lingered on her for a minute too long as she tried to film shots of the kitchen or write down prompt ideas for coming scenes.

“I’m telling ya, there’s something about university girls Samu,” his twin had said to him over the phone before their last day of filming. He talked a lot about his relationship with his brother that day, and how he had told the blond about his plans of quitting volleyball in favor of opening a restaurant.

“Y’know you sound like a real creep when you say shit like that right?” Osamu could hear the accent in his voice slowly coming back as he spoke with his brother.

“What? S’true. Although, you’ve yet to show me what this chick looks like anyway.”

‘ _She’s not a chick,_ ’ Osamu wanted to correct his brother but stopped himself lest his defensiveness becomes a jab the other could use against him later on.

He didn’t notice that he’d been silent for more than a couple of seconds until Atsumu called out his name, egging him to at least send her Instagram profile.

“We ain’t close enough for me to follow her sns, Tsumu.”

“So stingy little bro,” Atsumu laughed before hanging up.

Osamu figured his sudden attachment and consequent defensiveness about the college girl he’d been hanging out with was just a product of loneliness. While his Tokyo branch had been open for well over a year, he found himself almost friendless save for Akaashi-kun and a couple of regulars. He had been so caught up in running the place to make any real friends, much less develop any romantic interests.

He ran a calloused hand through his black hair, looking up at the ceiling of his bedroom. Filming was almost wrapped up. There’s a vibration on his bedside table.

_From: Film Kid_

_[23:40]_

_Tomorrow’s the last day!! I’m really excited to see you in action at such intimate proximity!_

_From: Film Kid_

_[23:40]_

_I meant that in a totally uncreepy way^_

Osamu chuckles at the girl’s texts. He has to stop himself from reading into her message too much.

_To: Film Kid_

_[23:42]_

_Hope you ain’t expecting much. My apartment kitchen’s way smaller than the one at the shop. You sure it’ll be good enough?_

_From: Film Kid_

_[23:43]_

_No no, it’s fine! I really wanna capture that up close and personal feel. Kinda have you show a more personal connection to the food._

_From: Film Kid_

_[23:44]_

_Although if you’re uncomfy with me coming to your place I’d hate to intrude, Miya-san!_

_To: Film Kid_

_[23:43]_

_Nah, I was just worried about the camera equipment and stuff. But if ‘up close and personal’ is what we’re aiming at, then by all means lol. See ya._

He put the phone down after she acknowledged his approval of the plan, and Osamu couldn’t help but be a little bit giddy at the thought of having her in his personal space. Not wanting to ruin the good energy of his evening, he called it a day and shut his eyes. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

——————

The morning is normal, save for the fact that Osamu doesn’t go to his shop. Normally, he would never go a day without at least showing up to check on his workers but he finds himself willing to break routine today.

She arrives just before noon, dressed in shorts and an oversized shirt that bares her shoulder and the strap of her bra. He ignores the growing sensation in his belly when her skin brushes against his while setting up.

Their final shots are—indeed as she described them— intimate. Lots of scenes focused on Osamu’s hands as he fluffs the rice, chops the _negi_ , shapes the triangles. There are also quiet moments of them discussing his personal connection to his cooking, complete with low voices, heated gazes, and a growing thickness in the air about them.

By the time she’s satisfied with the amount of footage they’ve taken, the sun has already come down. The apartment is littered with bags from the impromptu grocery store run they had gone on, complete with the _Kewpie_ mayo wrappers, a half-full bag of rice, and a couple of empty cans of _Sapporo Yebisu_ beer.

Both of them are flushed, laughing at something or other as she shamefully lays down on his bed. Osamu thinks she looks great sprawled across his sheets, long legs on display. He doesn’t have much time to savor the image when she stands up again and sets herself on the barstool next to his.

“You know I’ve been filming you for a week but you haven’t actually _taught_ me how to make anything. I swear there’s a secret to your rice you aren’t telling me.”

He chuckles at that. “For the last time, I just have a good supplier and a normal rice cooker. There’s no secret ingredient, promise.”

She pouts, unconvinced before moving to the sink to wash her hands. She reappears next to him and wets her hands again before salting them.

“At least show me how you make a perfect triangle. I’ve been practicing for years and they still always come out janky!”

Yet despite whining about the lack of the older male’s guidance, she places a large scoop of the cooked white rice into her palms before immediately dropping it back into the pot.

“Ah, shit,” she exclaims as she blows on her palms, now a light shade of red. Without much thought, Osamu takes her wrist and blows on the cherry skin, knowing all too well how painful it can be to handle rice without hands desensitized to the heat.

She makes no move to resist his actions and it takes him a few seconds to realize the proximity they’re suddenly in; him, crouched a bit lower to reach her hands, and here, with a face painted the same shade as her palms. Osamu can’t tell whether it’s from the buzz of the alcohol or the growing tension in the room.

Just as she starts to pull her wrists back, he spots a few grains stuck to her skin and without warning brings it to his mouth. His tongue makes contact with her hand briefly and carefully, cautious not to aggravate the stinging from the burn. And as he eats up the last bits of rice, he connects gazes with her only to find her eyes half-lidded and mouth parted ever so slightly. It’s when her lips let the tiniest sliver of a moan out that Osamu loses it.

He could keep his hands on her wrists for a while.

_Dessert_

For the fifth time since he has moved to Tokyo, Osamu is grateful that the apartment next to his own is empty; the last thing he wants is to get a noise complaint after a week of barely keeping his urges in check.

The room is filled with quiet moans and the creaking of his secondhand bed frame. He gently lays her on his crumpled sheets, one hand holding hers in place, the other caressing her face as he goes in for a kiss.

His chapped lips feel soft against hers, melding together at a languid pace. He feels her smile when their mouths catch against each other as they lip lock, her hands wandering over his firm chest while his are cupping her head ever closer to his. He licks at her gently, as if to ask for her permission. She sucks his own bottom lip into her mouth in reply, giggling at his surprised expression.

They break apart for air and she stares into his eyes as if she wants to untangle the mysteries that might lie there before smiling at him with a hazy look in her own. The innocent gaze only spurs Osamu further, using his body to cage her smaller frame against his bed.

“Do you want this?” he asks, looking into her eyes as he soothes his hands through her hair.

“Yes,” she nods, pulling him in to connect lips once more. This time, their tongues tangled in a deeper kiss. A hungrier kiss. His large hands travel to her shoulders, pushing down her top to reveal even more of her.

She whines when he retracts, only to whimper as he mouths at the exposed skin of her shoulder. He moves up, licking and peppering her neck with attention, breathing hot breaths on her which incite sultry noises.

He pushes himself up before tugging on the hem of her shirt, looking to her eyes again for agreement. She takes his hands in her own, helping him pull the garment off her body.

“You’re gorgeous, baby,” he breathes as he eyes her torso. Again, he latches onto her shoulder as he pushes down each bra strap. “And you’re really taking your sweet time aren’t you?” she retorts playfully.

“Gotta give a body as perfect as yours the love it deserves don’t you think? And you’ve seen me in the kitchen. I’m always this thorough.”

“That you are,” she manages to whine out as he unclips her bra and massages her breasts in his large hands. The contact alone makes her nipples harden, growing even tauter as Osamu palms them in a circular motion.

“Fuck,” she drags out as he tweaks one while suckling the other, his mouth proving to be just as talented at pleasing her. He switches to the other breast, wetting the peak with his tongue before blowing a cool breath onto it, eliciting another moan from her plump lips.

His kisses move south, dipping to her belly before stopping at the waist of her shorts. She reaches down and makes quick work of the button and zipper, before kicking it off to the floor. Osamu lowers his head to her body once more, face a mere centimeters away from her panties.

He catches her gaze, slowly pressing his face into her crotch. He breathes in deeply, inhaling her scent before tonguing at the growing wet spot on her underwear.

“O-osamu!” she all but screams, slipping her hands into his dark locks. He grins wickedly at the mention of his first name, before dragging his index finger across her clothed slit with a feather-light touch. “Please, touch me already. Take these off!”

“Begging for me already?” he taunts, softening when he sees her pleading eyes. “Sit up,” he instructs. A look of confusion graces her face before she realizes that the older male is directing her to take a seat on his mouth.

She straddles his face, once again feeling the warmth of his breath against her pussy. He pushes the cotton aside, exposing her to him, before grabbing her thighs to collapse her onto his tongue.

Osamu makes a noise that can only be described as a guttural, primal sound. He laves at her wetness with his tongue, the wet appendage as skilled at eating her as it was in kissing her. He traces shapes onto her open lips, occasionally stimulating the hardening pearl at the top of her mound. A thick finger joins his tongue, collecting her juices before pushing into her aching cunt.

“You’re gonna kill me.” She tries and fails to seem collected, coming undone once more as the man gently latches onto her clit. It only takes him a few minutes of gentle licks and sucking motions for her to grip the sheets beneath her even tighter, enough that he wonders if she’s torn holes into them.

She’s trembling now as Osamu carefully lifts her hips, ushering her to lay back down on her back. He sits up, discarding his shirt and jeans before looking down at her.

“I’ve never seen anyone look so beautiful with a fucked out expression,” he quips, and she laughs bashfully. “And I’ve never felt so pampered in bed before. Seems like you’ve got a lot more to you than cooking skills, old man.” There’s a teasing glint in her eyes and her voice.

“Well, wisdom comes with age baby.”

He hadn’t realized how incredibly hard his member had gotten until the moment that she had sat up and started pulling at the waistband of his boxers. It sprung free, thick and stiff, beads of pre-cum collecting at the slit.

She makes a move to take him in his mouth before he stops her, holding her face by her chin. “No, no that won’t do. I’m treating you like a lady tonight. You’ve worked so hard all week. Let me take the lead.” Osamu liked receiving head too— it was like asking someone if they liked birthday cake or ice cream sundaes. But there was just something about showering his partner with praises, kisses, and lingering touches that made Osamu’s libido go wild.

He lays her down more comfortably against his stack of pillows. He guides his cock into her cunt with one hand, pushing hair away from her face with the other. She lets out a high pitched whine before pulling him close so their chests touch.

“You doing good?” He makes sure to match her pace, slowly sheathing and unsheathing himself on her before picking up the pace as she begs for more. The catch of his head against her warm wet walls is addicting, and he only does a handful of slow thrusts before he pistons his dick into her.

The wet noises of sex and their heated moans intermingle in the airwaves; Osamu’s apartment feeling like a den of sweet sin. She pushes her legs over his shoulders and he shamelessly stares at the sight of his cock pushing in and out of her dripping wet sex. “Look at your pretty little pussy. Look at how beautiful it is, takin’ all of me in.”

His breathing staggers as her toes start to curl, and he feels his release coming close. He ruts into her at a break-neck pace, matching in time to her calling his name. “Osamu, Osamu, Osamu!”

He pulls out, releasing thick white ropes onto her belly. He presses one last kiss to her forehead, chaste and sweet, before standing up to get a towel to clean her up with.He wipes the mess on her belly and between her legs gently, with the same gentleness he had used while kissing her.

“I hope you don’t think I agreed to film with you just cause I planned on sleepin’ with you.” Osamu is back to his reserved self, voice quiet as if they had not just had torrid sex with each other. He hears her giggle before pulling him into a tender embrace.

“Of course. I don’t think anyone who could talk so passionately about their life’s work could be that shallow. Although, if we’re being honest here, I always thought you were just as much a selling point as your food.”

He laughs with her, before pulling her in to cuddle with him on his bare chest.

_Mignardise_

It’s closing time again at Onigiri Miya and Osamu has just about had it with his daily dose of torment. This time, it was neither a young student asking for help on a project or a hot girl waiting for Osamu to come home with her.

Instead, the incessant noise was caused by none other than his own idiotic twin brother, Miya Atsumu.

Ever since the blond had heard from Bokuto who heard from Akaashi-kun that Osamu was finally dating again, he had become livid. Osamu’s phone was ringing off the hook, so much so that he was unable to get anything done without completely turning the device off.

A few days later, and his brother had apparently taken the next train to Tokyo.

Normally, Osamu would get it. He and his twin had always confided in each other and were often the first to hear of any significant events in the other’s life. Atsumu was the first one to hear of Osamu planning to branch out his business, and Osamu was the first to know that Atsumu had been scouted to be in the national team.

It wasn’t that Osamu didn’t _want_ to tell his twin right away. He just happened to be even busier with the store than he normally was. His new girlfriend had gone on ahead and shared her documentary about him on social media and it blew up. Suffice to say, the lines in front of Onigiri Miya were the longest they had ever been since it first opened its doors.

Osamu sighed and resigned from wiping down his kitchen counter, passing by his girlfriend who was hard at work on something on her laptop.

“You knew this was inevitable right? You afraid he won’t like me or something?” she joked, barely looking up from her computer screen. He sighed and poked at her side before proceeding to the entrance.

“Nah, 'm afraid he’ll like you too much and try to steal you away.”

She snorted audibly at that, just as Osamu began to unlock the door, allowing an exasperated looking blond to rush in. “Why didn’t you tell me?!” The identical man all but screamed, dramatically waving his arms about. He did this in front of a less than amused Osamu, noticing seconds later that the subject of their quarrel is seated right across from him.

“Nice to see you too, scrub.” Atsumu immediately rushed to take the barstool beside his twin’s lover, leaning in a bit too close. “Nice to meet ya!” He flashed a megawatt smile to the seemingly disinterested young woman. She looked up to him politely with a suggestion of mischief in her smile before introducing herself.

Atsumu looked shocked— too shocked— that his boring quiet brother could get with a girl who wasn’t only attractive but younger too. “Seriously man, I’m not as much of a sleaze as you. I ain’t dating her just cause she’s younger than us. Besides, we’re only like five years apart.”

His girlfriend chortled, joking about him being an old man in every sense of the word besides physique. The twins turned to her in fake offense, and the shop was filled with a chorus of laughs.

Atsumu stayed to pester the two of them for the rest of the evening, before breaking off after dinner to stay at his Airbnb. Osamu realized that a) he should’ve just told his brother from the get-go and b) his girlfriend fit in perfectly with his family.

He walked with her hand in his jacket pocket as they both sound off about what they’ll cook together for dinner.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up here!  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/marikeeet)


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